The Dangers of Martial Arts
by redex
Summary: MoriKyouya. Somehow he had forgotten, and it wasn't as though he was loosing money.


Ohtori Kyouya could appreciate an attractive male as much as the next homo side character, but he added to that gaze a certain motherly pride when it was directed at Morinozuka Takashi. After all, although it had been Tamaki who had recruited the third-year along with his sweets-loving charge, it had been himself who had put that well-trained physique into good use. After all, if one developed an attractive body due to intense kendo training, one should not niglect the added bonus that had of attracting a large amount of the female sex's interest. Fortunately, he had been a natural, like most of Tamaki's choices. 

It was never more apparent than when Kyouya started a week-long "Host Club Martial Arts Training Camp" in conjunction with the Kendo and Martial Arts clubs to make up for stealing away their prize pupils. Parents were quite eager and willing to part with inordinate amounts of money to have their children given special lessons by such famous families. Of course the girls would spend much more time oogling at the boys than actually learning anything, but it was the thought that counted. And the money, of course.

_It_, of course, happened at the least oppertune time. There had been no one else avaliable by some quirk of the schedual for Mori to use as an example (due to insurance concerns, only members of the clubs were permitted to be involved in actual violent acts by the "sensei"s. Kyouya was not about to fork over the extra money for an extension on the plan.) and despite his gentle but firm resistance, he had to give in. The girls were looking slightly restless, and it was no good to not give quality for money. Sighing to himself, he told himself it would be a good information-gathering oppertunity, and he set his folder carefully on the grass before stepping onto the mat barefoot. He was, of course, already wearing proper uniform. One had to maintain appearances, no matter what the circumstances.

He was only given a moments warning, a flash of steel-grey eyes not unlike his own, before he was flat on his back, the breath wooshing out of him despite the coushin underneath him, with Mori's body's heavy weight holding him down. When his eyelids flickered open, his eyelashes actually brushed a soft cheek, but then the large form removed itself. He murmured "Mori-sempai," under his breath, but no one heard it under the squeeling of the girls that had been watching. He felt, for a moment, that he had finally figured out the appeal of the "Wild Type".

---

He didn't realize how it had affected him until the next morning, however, during his usual shower. His expident dreams of faceless, nameless figures and bodies who provided exactly the right carresses quickly morphed into the previous day's scene, except Mori-sempai never let him up off the mat. Usually Kyouya used the shower for these kinds of nessissary acts because he had calculated that the water wasted was made up for in drycleaning bills and wasted time. Unfortunately, that morning he spent an extra fifteen minutes in the shower and ended up surpassing the apex of his time/cost graph. He was loosing money because he he was, in short, lusting after Morinozuka Takashi. The world was coming to an end.

But after some coffee (instant) the world seemed a little brighter and he had assured himself that he could handle this.

---

He couldn't handle this.

He was alone in the club room with Mori-sempai, and he couldn't focus long enough to tally up Tamaki's makeup costs for the month. He could work when Hikaru and Kaoru were blowing stuff up, when Honey-sempai ate and babbled non-stop for hours, he could even ignore Tamaki when he was nagging and hanging off of him (at least for a little while). Mori-sempai was being silent, even, reading in one of the chairs at the other end of the table. Kyouya found himself twitching every time a page was turned, which was quite often. Eventually, Mori-sempai looked up at him questioningly and he choked and furiously scribbled nonsense onto his clipboard. There was a long silence and then Mori-sempai went back to reading and Kyouya went back to staring. The cycle repeated itself several times before a significant chunk of Mori-sempai's huge reserve of patience was tested.

"Is something bothering you, Kyouya-kun?"

And while a little voice inside of Ohtori Kyouya was screaming and bashing its head against the table a surprisingly calm and conventional voice emerged from his mouth.

"I was wondering if Honey-sempai and yourself have... ah... consumated your relationship."

He took advantage of the setting sun to make his glasses reflect the light and keep his eyes invisible, but that didn't stop him from seeing the serious appraising look Mori-sempai gave him before replying quite simply: "No."

Of course he had known that before hand, there had been no point in asking, so he simply nodded and doodled some more on his paper. Although the rest of the Host Club had gone to show off the new Theatre Room, they would be back soon to break the silence. Kyouya wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

---

Nothing, needless to say, went beyond that until he had asked Mori-sempai for help with his Japanese History essay before realizing what such help would warrent. He had still been experiencing phantom visits from Mori-sempai in his dreams, but those dreams were quite forcibly restrained from every day life. Unfortunately, it occured to him after asking that help in a certain subject was often asked for by the female protagonists of shojo manga in order to develop some excuse for alone time with the guy of their choosing. Kyouya could only hope that Mori-sempai didn't read many shojo manga.

---

The fact that Mori-sempai smelled exactly the way Kyouya thought he would for once surprised him. He tasted just as good. He felt just as good. Kyouya had somehow forgotten a hidden desire to be possessed by such a large, rough body.

Although Kyouya recognized Mori-sempai's desire to protect Honey-sempai to the death, he couldn't help but point out rather reasonably that death was very unlikely to come to him in any way, shape, or form in this present-day world and that Mori-sempai could take a few moments off here and there to meet his kouhai in one of the unused Medical Centers after classes.

Kyouya was never sure what Mori-sempai thought about this back-stage romance of theirs, but it wasn't like him to not say something out of proprierity if he wanted to know, and so he asked one day as he cleaned himself off with a sterile towelette and replaced his pants.

"You don't lie," was the response, quiet and sounding like a thunderstorm in the distance as it always did when Mori-sempai deigned to speak. Nothing more was offered and Kyouya only inclined his head graciously and slid onto the coushined bench beside his sometimes-boyfriend to retrieve his glasses. They were a little bent from where he had sat on them, but it would only take a moment to fix and he had a dozen identical pairs at home. Smiling softly, he whiped them off with a suitable cloth and was about to replace them when Mori-sempai leant in and kissed him forcefully on the lips. It was only brief, but left Kyouya's head swimming as it always did. It didn't show in his manners, though, other than a pause in the moment and a sudden inhale of breath.

They left separately, at different times.

---

Kyouya was quite aware that Mori-sempai could call it off at any moment, and that would be that. It was no more than an exchange of bodies, and didn't even replace the morning activity that Kyouya had so carefully slotted into in schedual. He just _enjoyed_ it, found it relaxing like little else after a long day, and as long as Mori-sempai was willing he wouldn't say no.

He wasn't loosing any money out of this deal, after all.


End file.
